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I turned to Bartholomew.
He already knew what I was going to say. “No.”
Claire pleaded with me, her wet eyes desperate. “Daddy…please.”
I got to my feet and faced my old ally, my old friend. “Let’s take her—”
“No.” The other men were in the chopper, so it was just the three of us in the snow. Beatrice was in the chopper, but she seemed to be too overwhelmed to speak…or too high. “That was not the deal.”
“Lying wasn’t part of the deal, but they did that anyway.” I faced him off, our eyes level. “We should take her as payment for the shit they pulled. This woman took care of my daughter—so I owe her everything.”
Bartholomew clenched his jaw then looked at Forneus—who hadn’t moved an inch.
Claire kept tugging on my sleeve. “Please…please.”
Without waiting for his agreement, I walked off. “Claire, stay here.”
He came after me. “I didn’t agree to this—”
“And I don’t give a damn.” Claire didn’t need to tell me what this woman meant to her because I could see it with my own eyes. I could see a woman who loved my daughter like I did, who took care of her when I wasn’t there. I wasn’t leaving her here to rot.
Forneus watched me as I returned.
I stopped in front of him, Bartholomew with me. “The woman comes with us.”
She remained on her knees, her breaths labored, like she couldn’t even dare to hope that she would leave in that chopper with us.
Forneus watched me, his answer soft. “No.”
“I’m not asking you.” I moved closer, wanting to bash his face into a tree until it was so bloody and disfigured that it wasn’t a face anymore. “We made a deal—and you lied. You lied to the Chasseurs. Your throat should be cut right now. Your eyes should be in my pocket. You kept my daughter away from me…and fucking lied.” My entire body shook because I was so fucking angry. “She comes with us—as an apology.”
His face mirrored mine, in a quiet rage. He wanted to kill me.
I wanted to kill him.
Glad the feeling was mutual.
My hand extended to the woman, ready to help her to her feet.
Her head turned to him, as if waiting for permission.
He continued to glare, to breathe hard, to suppress all his violent desires.
She finally took my hand—with a grip so tight it nearly bruised my hand.
I pulled her up, got her to her feet, and pushed her behind me. “Freak.”
17
Benton
We sat in the chopper, soaring over the countryside as we returned to Paris.
Beatrice was beside me, Claire on the other side. When I saw Beatrice’s eyes roll back in her head, I gave her a shake. “Beatrice, come on.” I clapped her cheek with my palm, my voice audible over the radio. “Stay awake.”
“LSD,” Bartholomew said across from me. “She’s on it. A lot of it.”
The woman sat against the other window and hadn’t said a word. Seemed to be in shock.
Beatrice’s eyes started to close again.
“Come on.” I slapped her this time.
“I think Mommy is hurt…” Claire’s gentle voice came over the intercom.
The woman spoke. “Her back…she’s bleeding.” It was the first time she’d said anything, and it wasn’t with the strength she’d spoken with when it came to Claire. It was as if she was injured too. Injured with shock.
I supported Beatrice and leaned her forward. That was when I saw the blood soaking through her shirt. “Fuck.”
Bartholomew saw it too. “If she doesn’t get to a hospital, she’ll die.”
That realization hit me too. I spoke to the pilot. “We need medical treatment now.”
He spoke back through the radio. “Changing course.”
Claire started to cry. “Mom’s…Mom’s gonna die…”
“No,” I said. “She’s going to be okay.” I lied out of my ass because I didn’t want my daughter to grapple with death in such a terrible way. “I need to stop the bleeding.”
Bartholomew moved, grabbing the emergency first aid equipment.
I removed my safety belt and laid her on the floor, working with Bartholomew to keep her alive.
Bartholomew supported her so I could wrap the gauze around her body.
The woman moved to the vacant seat beside Claire, holding her. “She’s going to be okay, baby. Just like all the other times, okay?”
All the other times? Jesus fucking Christ.
I got her wrapped up, kept slapping her face to keep her awake.
“Even if we stopped the bleeding, she’ll probably die from an overdose—”
“Just shut your mouth, alright?” I glared at Bartholomew, not wanting my daughter to hear this.
He wore the same stoic expression, indifferent to what I said, because life and death didn’t matter to him. Even his own death didn’t matter to him.
I got my daughter back, the fight was over, but now I was plunged into another life-or-death scenario.
If Beatrice died, it wouldn’t affect me that much.
But I didn’t want my girl to lose her mom.
